


The Journy To Our Freedom

by LoonyleWrites



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Hitchhiking, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-04-22 18:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14314317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyleWrites/pseuds/LoonyleWrites
Summary: "Go home, Gallagher." he told him again, after an hour or so of silence, as they walked from the Gallagher house towards the outer roads of the city, Mickey searching for the furthest away bus station. Ian sped his steps, his long legs matching Mickey's pace easily. "I am." he said, sort of simply with a little shrug.Mickey had one beat down too many at the Milkovich house. He packed his bag, and decided to go hitchhiking.He never planned on Ian Gallagher joining him, but, he wasn't complaining, either.This is their journy to freedom!





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first Gallavich fanfiction Iv'e written in a long long while.
> 
> Hope you all like it!
> 
> Tell me if you do!

 

 

Mickey's bootsteps hit the curb, and they were the only thing he managed to hear through the ringing in his ears. The bag slung over his shoulders was heavier than he thought it'd be, and still he felt like a huge weight has been lifted from him. And with every step, he grew lighter.

Still, his head was pounding. He needed a smoke. His hand reached for his pocket and he fished a smoke to put between his lips. Stopping his steps for a moment, he patted his pockets in search for a light. When he plucked the lit cigarette from his lips a momemt later, the edge was tainted with his blood. Mickey lifted his eyes, smoke filtering from his nostrils quickly, when someone called his name. He searched around for a moment, before he heard it again. "Mickey!"

The sound came from somewhere above. Gallagher was yelling from the window at the top floor, demanding he "Wait one second!" , and disappeared. Mickey wasn't really sure why he did end up waiting, but he supposed he owed Gallagher a few seconds, after all.

"Mickey!" Ian called again, stumbling out the front door, a bag slung over his own shoulder, red hair messy, trying to tie his shoe while still walking towards him. He was a damn mess.

"No, Gallagher. No fucking way." Mickey said, realising Gallagher's plan, and he motioned with his hand for Ian to stay put, taking a couple of steps down the pavement, his eyebrows rising threateningly on his forehead.

As if Mickey saying no ever stopped Ian.

Ian continued moving in his direction. He finished tying his shoe and adjusted the flannel shirt he was wearing on top of some stupid band shirt, that got caught in his bag straps. "Where are we going?" he asked, breathy, advancing so quickly in Mickey's direction that Mickey didn't even have time to move away, and Ian was already all up in his personal space, going as far as snatching his cigarette.

He grimaced at the blood tainted filter, but took a drag non the less.

"We, aren't going anywhere." Mickey said, angrily taking his cigarette back. He thumbed his bloodied lip and tried to ignore the stinging on the cut under his eye. No way was he letting Ian go with him. Mickey was a lone person. And besides, letting the boy come with him meant telling Ian he _wanted_ him there. Mickey couldn't do that. Although if he were completely honest with himself, having Ian with him would make the whole thing a lot better.

No. No it wouldn't. "I'm going." he said, pointing at his own chest with his cigarette holding hand. "You're," he continued, "-Staying right fuckin' here." he pointed at Ian. "Don't be fucking crazy, Gallagher, Jesus." he said, gritting his teeth, eyes dropping, and then his gaze tried to focus on anything, anything that wasn't that pair of determined, begging green eyes.

Ian had that starry eyed look people only have when they have hope. He had the sort of innocence no one had anymore. Not in the southside. He was sweet and fucking soft, and he had goals and missions. Mickey would just ruin the whole damn thing.

Ian didn't seem to be phased by Mickey's refusal. He never did. Mickey sometimes had the feeling Ian had x-ray vision, and the redhead could see Mickey deep down, see that raw, nasty creature he hid behind countless masks and walls. "C'mon, Mick." was all he said.

His damn tone. His damn voice. Fucking Gallagher.

"No." Mickey said, walking past Ian pointedly and continuing down the street. He didn't argue, though, when he heard Ian follow.

 

"Go home, Gallagher." he told him again, after an hour or so of silence, as they walked from the Gallagher house towards the outer roads of the city, Mickey searching for the furthest away bus station. Ian sped his steps, his long legs matching Mickey's pace easily. "I am." he said, sort of simply with a little shrug.

Mickey cast a confused little glare in his direction, finally stopping in front of a worn out bus station. It had a broken bench and a sign with a few bus line numbers, and Mickey dropped his bag on the dirty ground. He pressed a hand to his eyes, rubbing them carefully for a moment. "You're damn stubborn, Gallagher. I ain't going anywhere, you get that? I got no damn plan. You're ditching a lot of shit for a _fuck_. " he said, blunt, motioning with his hand at Ian, trying to pass his damn point.

Ian seemed almost hurt. "It's not for a fuck, Mick." he said, "It's for you."  
Mickey wanted to rip that dorkish lopsided smile Ian had from his face, and, and put it in his pocket. For later.

Mickey didn't say anything. Ian's bag landed by Mickey's on the ground, and he stood in front of Mickey.

The redhead looked at him again. He lifted his hand, and it almost reached Mickey's face, before clenching and dropping by his side again. "Your, uh," he pointed at him, "Your cut's bleeding." he said.

Mickey pressed his hand to his cheek, smearing the blood with dirt from his hand, the cut stinging from the sweaty, rough touch.

"Terry?" Ian mumbled, slowly moving to sit by Mickey. Their knees bumped, and Mickey leaned forward, his wrists draped on his knees. He nodded, once, and spat some saliva mixed with blood on the dirt between his shoes. It had a gross yellowish colour, and Mickey rubbed it into the ground with his heel.

Mandy already ran away to live with her stupid fucking boyfriend, dropping a weekly phone call to Mickey to let him know she was alive. Mickey didn't have anything left in the southside. Nothing to really fight for.

He wanted to tell Ian. To tell him how Terry blamed him for Mandy leaving. And for his mom dying. How it all built up for too long until it burst out of him. How he could feel his insides crawl with anger, feel the way Terry spoke and touched him, feel his head about to explode with hate.

He also wanted to tell him about how light he felt, knowing he left it all behind.

But he didn't. Mickey sucked in a breath, digging the heel of his palm into the eye that wasn't swollen, letting that breath out slowly, holding all the words in.

Fifteen minutes later or so, a bus arrived to the small stop. With a creek, it pulled to a full stop in front of them, and the door opened slowly. Mickey picked up his bag. The engine was so loud.  
He looked at Ian for a moment and opened his mouth, but the bus driver honked at them. He clenched his jaws and turned away from Ian.

Without looking back, he got on the bus and paid the driver. Heart pounding in his ears, not daring a glance to see if Ian followed, he walked all the way to the back of the bus, and dropped into the window seat by the far end.

He focused his eyes on the outside, as the bus began driving.

A bag dropped down by his, and Ian sank into the seat by Mickey. Ian scraped an old gum from the seat in front of him, and offered Mickey another smile.

Okay, stubborn piece of shit.  
Okay.


	2. Day 35

  
The fields spread out in front of them, just miles upon miles of green grass and nothing else. The sun was high in the sky and the air was thick with heat, causing beads of sweat to form on Mickey's forehead. He was a few feet ahead of Ian, looking before him at where they were heading. "Don't think you're right," he said simply, picking up a rock from the ground, tossing it mindlessly between his hands.

  
"What do you mean, don't think I'm right?" Ian asked from behind him, and Mickey could hear him sipping from the water bottle. "Means I think you're god damn wrong, genius." Mickey said, turning back to glance at him for a second, before looking back ahead. "Means that it's a stupid theory." he added, tossing the rock forward, stopping for a second just to see how far he managed to throw it.

  
"Its not stupid. I think it makes sense. There is no up and down. Like, literally, no up and down. It's the same everywhere. Like," Ian explained, rushing his steps a little to catch up with Mickey, but the older boy was already more steps ahead again. "Like, in each direction there's just space, you know? Like, we could be up, like, the north pole. But who says the south pole isn't up?" he demanded.

  
Mickey huffed, kicking the tip of his shoe into the ground. "Don't fuck me up, Gallagher," he told him, adjusting the strap of his bag. Ian grinned, and then laughed, running the distance between them, and wrapped his arms around Mickey's shoulders, playfully jumping on his back. Mickey couldn't hold back his own laughter, and tried shrugging Ian off of him. They struggled for a moment, stumbling forward a little, gripping each other. Ian let go and, still grinning his stupid wide smile, pressed a sloppy kiss to Mickey's cheek.

  
The older boy scoffed, playfully shoving him aside. "Don't fucking do that." he warned him as Ian stumbled, but the redhead's good mood didn't seem to faze at Mickey's rejection. Instead, he just walked by his side, occasionally glancing at him. "You drip sweat." he finally stated, chuckling as he slapped the back of Mickey's neck, smoothing his hand down the sweaty skin before wiping it on Mickey's shirt in mock disgust.

  
"Jesus, Gallagher," Mickey huffed, shoving him again. "Like you never sweat." he said, wiping his upper lip with the collar of his shirt. It was fucking hot.

  
Ian punched his upper arm teasingly, and looked away again. In the distance, he spotted a huge tree. Its branches were wide and thick, offering a large circle of shadow in the hot sun. "Hey, c'mon," he prompted Mickey, tugging at his shirt momentarily before he started to jog, his bag bouncing off his back at the light pace.Mickey only took a second to look at his legs and ass before running behind him, trying to match his pace. "Calm down, Gallagher!" he chuckled, but Ian was already too far away and heading for the tree, so Mickey just followed.

  
When the redhead reached the tree, the first thing he did was drop his bag off his shoulders. He fell down, back resting against the trunk of the tree, and closed his eyes. Sighing happily, he put his hands under his head, opening one eye to see where Mickey was.

  
Mickey slowed down to a walk when he neared Ian, grinning at the younger boy. "The fuck you doing, hippie?" he asked, putting down his own bag by Ian's feet. "Feeling like fucking Supertrump a little?" he teased, and laughed when Ian aimed a kick to his leg.

  
"The fuck's Supertrump?" Ian asked, amused, when Mickey sat down.

The older boy put his head on his bag, using it as a pillow. His fingers dug into the dirt by his side, and he adjusted his head a little. "Who's Supertrump?" he demanded, lifting his head to look at Ian. "You never saw Into The Wild?" he asked, dropping his head back down.

  
Ian laughed a little, tearing some grass and rubbing it between his fingers. "No?" he asked, looking up at the bark of the tree. "What's it about?"

  
Mickey huffed, putting one of his hands behind his head. "Its bout this dude," he started, looking up as well. "He gets sick of all his money shit cause he's rich and he can do that," he chuckled, and Ian followed. "And he like, burns all of his money and shit and starts hitchhiking to Alaska. And he wants to live there alone like some dumb fuck." he said, glancing at Ian, who was looking at him closely.

  
"Kinda like us." Ian told him, offering him a little grin.

Mickey held back his own smile, rolling his eyes. "That's why I called you that, asswipe. Great deduction." he said, trying to look serious. But Ian just smiled at him, seeing right through it, so who's to blame when the corner of his lip turned up a little?

  
Ian pushed his hand into the bag, sitting up a little. He folded a little piece of carton, holding it between his teeth, and began grinding some weed and tobacco into a tiny bowl. "We got enough water?" he spoke around the filter.

The odd sound made Mickey lift his head to look at what Ian was doing. When he put his head back down, it was on Ian's leg, right next to his feet. For a second he froze, but it soon faded when Ian didn't seem to even notice. 

"Yeah. We got for like two days." he said, not looking at Ian as he rolled the joint.

  
"Good." Ian said simply, rolling the paper between his fingers, smoothing the edge before licking it closed. He rolled the tip and gave the two obligatory licks to the finished spliff before putting it in his mouth. "We should probably work a bit." he said as he patted his pockets.

  
He caught the lighter Mickey tossed to him, and lit the joint. "Yeah. First place we find." Mickey answered simply, taking the silver lighter back.

Ian let out the smoke through his nose trails. "Where did your trump guy get money from?" he teased Mickey, passing him the joint. 

Mickey took it, throwing some grass at Ian's face. "Don't remember." he lied, but left no room for arguments as he took a long drag, holding it in his lungs. "Bet there's some farm who needs help or some old lady whod want you to clean her pool shirtless, right? We'll find something." he said around the smoke filtering out of his mouth, handing the joint back.

  
Ian hummed in response, and didn't say anything more. They finished the joint in silence, passing it back and forth. The sun was slowly traveling down the sky, and they both watched it quietly, each in his own thoughts.

  
The heavy heat lifted off of them, making room for a gentle breeze and musky warmness, and Ian felt fucking good. Fucking fantastic. There was something about silences with Mickey that made Ian feel so comfortable it was almost insane. He wasn't sure if the sudden light feeling in his chest was from the fresh air or from Mickey's silence, but he was willing to think it was both.

  
The weed crawled its way to Mickey's head, and he could feel it affecting him, making his thoughts spiral and his pants a little tight. He reached one tattooed hand down to adjust his pants, and licked his lips. He looked up to see Ian catching that little motion, that stupid smirk playing on his lips.

  
Maybe having Ian with him wasn't too bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!  
> This is the second chapter, currently on day 35 of their journey.
> 
> Hope you like it! Let me know:)


	3. Day 55

Mickey's laughter drowned in the noise around them, as Ian ran forward, dragging Mickey between the people crowding the street. It was dark outside, but the main street was lit with festive, colourful lights, and music could be heard loudly. Ian laced their fingers, jumping a little on his toes to clap his hand against a row of fairy lights hung up between a few stands.

"Cmon," Ian said, pulling Mickey towards one of the stands, fishing his pockets for money. He let go of Mickey's hand just to count the coins in his open palm, asked the man something, and paid him. Soon enough they each had a reusable chug of beer in their hands, and they continued down the street. Or more so, Ian continued guiding Mickey through the dancing crowd.

Mickey never understood parties. Too loud, too many people, shitty music, expansive drinks. Useless. A waste of time and money when you could just stay home and smoke something. But Ian liked parties. And Mickey liked Ian. And when Ian heard about the large street party a week prior in the town they stayed at, it took just one blow job and some puppy glances for Mickey to agree to go.

And if Mickey was completly honest, he thought to himself while sipping his beer, squished between other people, his other hand in Ian's larger one.. well. It wasnt too bad. It was maybe even quite nice. Ian let go of his hand to wipe it against his jeans, but was quick to hold it again once he got rid of the sweaty feeling. Ever since Mickey agreed to hold his hand the other day, the damn redhead didnt seem to want to let it go.

Which, wasnt too awful, either.

The music beat loudly in their ears, Ian bouncing a little on his feet, head swaying with the music, turning his excited expression to Mickey. "Wanna dance, Mick?" he yelled over the music, starting to move a little more, chugging heavily from his beer. Mickey was quick to shake his head, taking a tiny step back between the bodies around them.

Ian was having none of it, though, and he laughed, tossing his now empty paper cup to the floor. "C'mon, grumpy," he said, swaying his hips in a way that honestly, was absolutly unfair. Mickey realised he needed to be a little more drunk for that, so he downed the last of his own beer and dropped it to the ground as well. Someone pushing past them stepped on it, and the paper flattened against the ground.

When both Mickey's hands were free, Ian quickly grabbed them, dancing in front of Mickey, trying to get him to move. "Just close your eyes!" he yelled into Mickey's ear. "No one's here but us!" he added, and closed his eyes. The colourful lights from the lamps around them danced across his face, and he swayed their joined arms, trying to get Mickey to dance.

Mickey just... stared at him. For a moment, there really was no one there but the two of them. Everything around was blurry, and the high of freedom and some beer and /Ian/, was probably what made Mickey close his eyes.

He wouldnt necessarily call it dancing. But it was close. His head moved with the heavy beat, and he even let Ian pull him closer and grab his shoulders, shaking Mickey up.

When he did, though, Mickey opened his eyes and laughed. "Fuck off!" he grinned, and Ian pouted.

"Mick, c'mon!" he wrapped his arm around Mickey, trying to get the shorter man to twirl along the music.

Mickey pulled away, but he was still smiling, and punched Ian's arm playfully. "Fuck you." he said, shaking his head as he pulled out his box of smokes. "Thats enough fucking dancing, Fred Esther." he told him, holding the smoke dangling between his lips as he patted his pockets for a lighter.

Ian smiled at him, all goofy grins and freckles, his stupid flannel shirt sliding off his shoulder, exposing a bit of his collarbone and shoulder, the sleeve long enough to cover his palm.

A goofy fucking idiot. Mickey liked him quite a lot.

He blew out smoke through his nosetrails, eyes not leaving Ian's. He kicked the ground, giving in just a little, and motioned his head for Ian to follow him this time. 

The younger boy's grin widened, quirked, and Mickey didnt see the glistening in his eyes, since he turned his back to Ian, starting to guide them out of the crowd. 

A hand grabbed his from behind, so familiar Mickey didnt need to look back to know it was Ian, keeping them from seperating between the people. 

A few moments, and they were out of the mass of people, standing by the curb. Ian pushed himself from the dancing bodies, and walked with Mickey away from the party. 

Mickey kept silent, leading them both away from the loud music and people towards the end of the street, and wandered off with Ian in one of the small streets of the tiny village. 

After a few moments, the music was finally far enough, and only heard quietly. The night was beautiful, all stars and warm air, and they slowed down to an easy pace, walking side by side aimlessly in the narrow streets. 

"Hey," Ian finally said after a few minutes, touching Mickey's arm lightly, "Gimme a smoke?" 

"Sure," he said, kicking an empty cup on the ground as he handed Ian a cigarette and a lighter. 

The next few minutes, the silence was only interrupted by the sounds of Ian's inhales and exhales. They stopped, finally, next to a park bench, and sat down. 

"You ever think bout going back?" Ian asked after a while, out of the blue. He wasnt looking at Mickey, but watching a couple stray cats playing in the grass in front of them. 

"No." Mickey looked up, sliding a little down the bench, tilting his head back to look up. 

"What about Mandy?" Ian pushed further. 

Mickey glanced at him. "You can go back, Gallagher, no one's keepin' you here." he said, looking back up. He figured Ian would want to go back at some point. Big family guy, fucking sap, Mickey always knew Ian would miss his family too much. 

"You kicking me out?" Ian asked, smiling. 

Mickey huffed. "Cant kick you out. Youre like a pest." he said, sitting up to take out a cigarette. "I mean it, Gallagher. You can go."

His heart clenched nervously. He wasnt _afraid_ , per se, but he certainly didnt want to be there without Ian. 

He could. But he didnt want to. Not now, when he got used to Ian, when he liked Ian. When Ian made sure he wasnt so alone with his thoughts as he were.

"Im not going anywhere," Ian lifted his palms up in mock surrender. "Just askin. Mandy's your sister." 

"I know what she fucking is, thank you very much. " he grumbled, tapping the filter tip of his cigarette against his thumb. "Shes a big girl, Ian, she can take care of her fucking self." Mickey mumbled, lighting his smoke. 

"Course she can. But still."

Mickey let out a puff of smoke harshly, watching it swirl and fade in front of his eyes. Cigarette smoke was much prettier in the moonlight. Looked clean, in Mickey's eyes. 

"Whatdya want me to do? I aint going back there." he told him, shaking his head slightly, eyebrows raised threatingly. 

Ian was looking at him again. It was a terrible habit. Mickey grew used to it over time, but Ian's look was something no one ever gave him before. Like he was trying to figure out how to take Mickey apart and look straight into his insides. 

Like Mickey was some sort of riddle, and if Ian looked at him hard enough, or smiled enough, or touched him enough, he would get the answer. 

And he was damn fucking stubborn. 

"You could call her." he told Mickey, snatching the smoke from his fingers, taking a drag, and giving it back, ignoring Mickey's irritated look. "Just pick up a damn phone, Mick. She deserves it." his voice was tight with smoke, but determined. Mickey knew he could fight back. He usually did. But he wanted to call Mandy, actually. It wasnt too bad of an idea. 

"Fine." he snapped, butting his smoke on the bench edge and tossing it aside. "Fine, Ill fucking call her." he said. 

He could do without Ian's smug fucking smirk, though. What an asshole. 

"Dont look so damn pleased, Gallagher, I was gonna call her at some point." 

Ian snorted, "Yeah, sure, like you were gonna quit smokin'." 

"Shut up, I was!" Mickey punched his arm. Ian laughed.

 

So did Mickey. 

 

 


End file.
